


Never Give Up, Never Surrender

by Jenetica



Series: The Heisenberg Anthology [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Evolution (the movie) References, F/M, Galaxy Quest References, Lydia has some serious feels, Past Relationship - Lydia/Jackson, Science Fiction, Stiles is a sweetheart, non-graphic references to sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenetica/pseuds/Jenetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you want another sci-fi comedy, or a sci-fi, or a comedy, or none of the above, or what?"</p><p>"Well, I'm already planting roots in Loserville, might as well make a night of it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Give Up, Never Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! This is an interlude/crucial installment of The Heisenberg Anthology, but it can be read alone!
> 
> That said, I strongly recommend seeing Galaxy Quest and Evolution, if you haven't seen them. If nothing else, they'll brighten your day. Week. Life. [Semantics.]
> 
> Un-beta'd, as always.

If anyone had ever told Lydia Martin that she'd be curling up with Stiles Stilinski to watch a sci-fi movie, she'd have straight up laughed in their face. Her? Stiles? Sci-fi? They simply didn't belong in the same sentence.  
  
Yet here she was, fitted with Stiles and _Galaxy Quest_ between a capital letter and a period. Worse yet, she was actually enjoying herself a little bit… not that she'd ever let Stiles know that. When he'd invited her over for the evening, she'd expected their usual session of bang, banter, and mind-blowing orgasm. She'd even worn her less-than comfortable fuchsia bra and panties set. And wow, this bra really wasn't designed for long term use, was it? Ow.  
  
Lydia shifted, subtly trying to move the underwire away from that particular spot on her ribcage, and Stiles glanced over at her. "You okay?" he asked around a Twizzler.  
  
Lydia shot him a reassuring half-smile that turned into a grimace when the other side started to hurt. Stiles sighed and paused the movie.  
  
"Let me guess," he said, sounding fondly exasperated, which, hello, _rude_. "You wore something gorgeously sexy and wholly inappropriate for a movie night, and now you're regretting that decision."  
  
Lydia sniffed, mortified that she'd been that transparent. "In my defense, when have we ever kept our clothes on around each other? Statistically speaking, my choice was sound."  
  
"Exactly," Stiles replied, rolling his eyes. "We never spend time with each other, not really. It's always naked time on the Stiles and Lydia clock."  
  
"Is naked time so bad?" Lydia purred, leaning into Stiles. She could use some naked time right about now. Stiles' nostrils flared, and a ruddy blush rose on his cheeks.  
  
"Definitely not," he murmured, bending to kiss at the spot on Lydia's neck that made her weak in the knees. "But," he continued, lips still pressed to her skin, "we're people, not sex toys."  
  
"We're teenagers," Lydia pointed out dryly. "Same difference."  
  
Stiles lips curled against her neck, and Lydia fought a shiver. _Damn_ , he was sexy. When had _that_ happened?  
  
"Touché." Stiles leaned back, and Lydia pointedly ignored the way her side felt cold at the loss. "But you're no teenager. You're Lydia Martin, brains and beauty extraordinaire with a cutting eye and an even sharper tongue. You're way more than a collection of aesthetically pleasing genetic traits. So excuse me if I'd like to spend some quality time with you."  
  
Lydia blinked at him, feeling that now-familiar rush of burnt sugar and chocolates flow thick on her tongue. Fuck sexy; when had Stiles gotten so poetic? And why was she already coming up with a responding sonnet, written in prose and promises? That's wasn't right… was it?  
  
Lydia scoffed at herself. Of course it wasn't right; sonnets couldn't be written in prose. She stood, striding over to the staircase. "If I'm getting rid of the bra, I'm getting rid of the outfit," she threw over her shoulder. "I'm assuming you have something I can wear?"  
  
A moment of silence, then Stiles thundered after her. Lydia smiled, unseen. Stupid sexy, poetic, adorable Stiles.  
  
He pulled out a pair of basketball shorts, then a pair of pajama pants, looking uncertain. "Um… what do you want to wear? I mean, you're welcome to whatever, of course."  
  
"What, expert-at-relationships-Stiles doesn't know how to dress his girl? Color me shocked." Lydia teased, snatching the pajama pants.  
  
Wait, fuck, what? What had she said, just then? Relationships? ' _His_ girl?' What?  
  
Stiles, for his part, just grinned. "My research only extends to getting a girl _out_ of her clothes, _mon chérie_ , but I'd be happy to extend my line of study."  
  
"I'm sure you'd be happy to 'extend' just about any 'line,'" Lydia muttered, lips quirking up. She dropped her skirt, smirk widening when Stiles inhaled. "Oh, and it's ' _ma chérie_ ,' not ' _mon_.'"  
  
"Uh huh," Stiles said dumbly. "Spanish was never my subject."  
  
Lydia laughed, sliding into Stiles' pajama pants. They were a little baggy, and they absolutely pooled at her feet. "Nice to know your attention span hasn't improved."  
  
"Oh, I can show you just how long my attention span is," Stiles promised darkly, stepping forwards to slide a finger just under the waistband of the borrowed pants. "Just say the word."  
  
Lydia was tempted, so very tempted, to drop the pants and make use of her ridiculous lingerie, but a tiny part of her remembered how earnestly he'd spoken, earlier, about spending time with her. And that tiny little part of her, even more ridiculous than the bra, wanted to give that to him.  
  
So she stepped back, out of his space. "What, and miss out on how the cast helps the Thermians? How could you ask that of me?"  
  
Stiles gave her a small, reluctant, hopeful smile, and Lydia tried not to count that as a victory. "You drive a hard bargain, Heisenberg," he sighed.  
  
Lydia stripped off her shirt and undid her bra in quick succession, raising an eyebrow at him expectantly. "T-shirt, please," she demanded, holding one hand out.  
  
"A very painfully hard bargain," Stiles amended, eyes wide as saucers. "Are you sure you need a shirt? Or clothes at all? Naked movies are still movies, right?"  
  
Lydia shoved him, breaking his focus. "Stilinski. Shirt. Now."  
  
"Right," Stiles said, turning his back to her. "Shirt." He rifled through his drawers and threw a shirt over his shoulder. Lydia caught it and slipped it on, tugging her hair gently through the neck. She took in the rigid line of Stiles' back and took pity on him.  
  
"Seems unfair, me in pajamas and you in normal clothes," she commented lightly. "I'm going to go downstairs and make some popcorn. You go ahead and get changed. No rush."  
  
She left Stiles' room, making sure to close the door behind her, and went into the kitchen. She really did want a snack. Stiles' kitchen was full of health food and candy, which made Lydia's chest twinge. Stiles was really awesome around his dad. Lydia had always known it, in the back of her mind, just like she'd known he was he had ADHD and had a crush on her. But seeing the evidence, all piled neatly in stacks in the cabinets, was strangely heart-warming. Stiles sacrificed fried food and trans fat for his dad, because he didn't believe the Sheriff should go his diet alone. Lydia could only _dream_ of having that kind of bond with her parents.  
  
But then, no, she couldn't. She knew how that relationship had developed: Stiles' mom had died. When Mrs. Stilinski had passed, the whole city mourned her loss. She was like a beam of sunshine, warming everything she touched. At least, that's how Lydia remembered her. She'd only met Mrs. Stilinski a few times, at school functions and the grocery store, and such. Every single time, Mrs. Stilinski had given her a great big smile-- one that Stiles had inherited-- and said hello.  
  
It was part of the reason Lydia had avoided Stiles for all those years. She was a privileged, bratty little girl and didn't know the first thing about real emotion. She had shied away from the raw, open hurt that clouded around Stiles like a bad smell because she hadn't _begun_ to understand such complex feelings at that point. She couldn't bear to see him in pain, not when he had lost so much and her so little, so she chose not to see him at all. And when his grief faded and his foolish crush on her returned, Lydia just kept on ignoring him. It was easier that way.  
  
Everything changed when Jackson got turned. Suddenly, she was hallucinating and losing time. Jackson was a jerk. Stiles and Scott had somehow turned into heroes. Every stable aspect of Lydia's life had turned to quicksand, and she didn't know where to stand without sinking. And she started feeling real emotion, that dreadful stuff that she's avoided like the plague; fear and confusion and anger and, when Jackson had left, mind-numbing grief. God, that had hurt. Lydia had felt so shitty about herself because, when she was mourning, she wondered if this was how Stiles had felt when his mom died. And she realized that no, it was so, so much worse. And she'd _avoided_ him for that. What kind of person did that make her?  
  
Lydia heard the ceiling creak and hurried to put popcorn in the microwave, but her thoughts were still heavy. Maybe that's why she'd decided to had sex with Stiles, that first time. But no, that wasn't it, that wasn't the total truth. What she'd done with Stiles was no pity-fuck. But then, what was it?  
  
Jackson had taken a chunk of her heart when he left. He had been her first love. But Lydia knew, even though she hated herself for it, that he wasn't her _true_ love. She'd never imagined babies with his hair and her cheekbones. She'd never cut wedding dresses out of magazines. Hell, she'd barely thought past high school. There was no permanence with Jackson, there never had been. Stiles, though, felt different. Stiles was as big a part of her world as anything. He'd always been there, a shadow at her back, an itch in her spine. He was there for her when no one else was. He was the very definition of permanence.  
  
Why wasn't that scary? Objectively, having a boy follow around for most of your life was creepy as hell. Stiles knew things about her that other people couldn't begin to fathom, because he watched her so closely. That should have been terrifying, but it wasn't. It was a comfort, knowing that Stiles was there, watching over her. Taking care of her. Not that she needed taking care of-- come on, she was Lydia Martin, she could take care of herself-- but it was nice, anyway.  
  
The microwave _ding_ ed, and Lydia pulled out the bag of popcorn, shaking the kernels loose. She fished a large bowl out of a cabinet and poured the popcorn into it, taking the snack back into the living room. Not thirty seconds later, Stiles rushed down the stairs, looking flushed.  
  
"Hi, sorry," he said, looking embarrassed. And just like that, her roiling worry subsided. Did it really matter _why_ she'd slept with Stiles? She'd done it, end of story. Lydia glanced at the clock; nearly ten minutes had passed since she came down.  
  
She smirked at Stiles. "Have fun?"  
  
"Shut up," Stiles retorted, rolling his eyes. "It's your own damn fault, and you know it."  
  
Lydia shrugged innocently. "I wasn't aware I had to police my body around you."  
  
Stiles squinted at her, shaking his head like he couldn't figure her out. "…I have no comeback."  
  
"Damn straight," she replied, grinning. "Now sit down. Captain What's-His-Face has to save the day from Evil Lizard Dude. It's very exciting."  
  
Stiles squinted at her again and sat down. He must have found whatever he was looking for, because he looked away and shuffled back against the cushions. "You almost sound like you're enjoying yourself." It was said casually, but Lydia could hear the desperately hopeful undertone to it.  
  
"What can I say?" she asked, eating a kernel of popcorn. "Alan Rickman in that head thing just really does it for me, you know?"  
  
Stiles laughed, bright and cheerful. "At least it's not one of the Thermians."  
  
"Oh, I wouldn't count them off, either," Lydia replied. "I've seen hentai." She nodded her head and winked knowingly,wriggling her fingers in an unmistakable way. Stiles gaped at her.  
  
"You… what, now?"  
  
"Play the movie." Lydia nudged his knee with her foot. Stiles hastened to hit the play button, and they watched Tim Allen's character attempt to negotiate with the evil Sarris. Stiles kept shooting her little looks that she pretended not to notice, but he eventually stopped, draping a hesitant arm over the back of the sofa in her direction. Lydia scooched over to his side and placed the popcorn in his lap so she could bring her knees up under her chin. There, that was comfortable.  
  
Lydia got totally absorbed in the movie, which was hilarious and perfect. She could easily see why Stiles liked it. When the cast landed on the desert planet to obtain the beryllium sphere, she _aww_ ed at the miners, then screeched when they turned vicious. She even gave a little "woohoo!" when Jason conquered the rock monster.  
  
At some point, they finished the popcorn and Stiles leaned forward to put it on the table. When he leaned back, Lydia unthinkingly shoved even closer under his arm, barely noticing when said arm curled over her shoulders. She _did_ , however, notice the tiny circles his thumb was rubbing into her arm. It sent tingles across her skin.  
  
"Stop," she said, laying a hand over the digit in question, "you're distracting me."  
  
"Hmm?" Stiles looked over at her, confused. He'd been doing it absent-mindedly, she realized. "Oh, sorry."  
  
He fidgeted nervously for a few minutes, overly conscious of himself. Lydia rolled her eyes and laid her arm on top of his, interlocking their fingers. "There, better? No more fidgeting."  
  
Stiles's fingers clenched between hers. "Yeah, okay," he said softly. Lydia swallowed back a wave of sugar and chocolate and reabsorbed herself in the movie.  
  
Jason and the crew conquered the evil lizard (who did _not_ remind her of anyone in particular, thank you) and crashed into their own convention, shocking their fans into a torrent of applause. Jason Nesbitt emerged from the wreckage, and, as one, the entire crowd (and Lydia and Stiles) cheered his catchphrase. "Never give up, never surrender!" Lydia grinned her way through the end, squeezing Stiles' hand when the alien girl got to be on the TV show as Fred's love interest.  
  
"So, what'd you think?" Stiles asked her when the credits rolled.  
  
"Oh, it was awesome!" Lydia replied, remembering a moment later that she wasn't supposed to be that excited about a movie. "I mean, it was funny. You know, in a nerdy way."  
  
"You loved it," he drawled, nudging her shoulder with their combined hands. "Don't even try to lie to me."  
  
"A lady never lies," she sniffed daintily, shoving her toes under his thigh. "She merely chooses which truth to acknowledge."  
  
"Whatever," Stiles said, hugging her to his side briefly. "Wanna watch another?"  
  
"Will your dad be coming home?"  
  
"Why, are you afraid he'll see his son watching sci-fi movies with a girl, both of whom are fully dressed, and freak out?"  
  
Lydia was silent for a second. "Good point. Pick a good one."  
  
Stiles beamed at her ( _just like his mother_ ) and left the couch to pick through his DVD collection. Lydia admired the curve of his ass in his plaid pajama pants as he bent over to see the titles.  
  
"Hey," he said, turning just in time to see her eyes dart upwards guiltily. He smirked at her, sending a wriggle her way with an eyebrow waggle to beat all other eyebrow waggles. Lydia shook her head at him, amused.  
  
"'Hey,' what?"  
  
"Do you want another sci-fi comedy, or a sci-fi, or a comedy, or none of the above, or what?"  
  
"Well, I'm already planting roots in Loserville, might as well make a night of it."  
  
Stiles stuck his tongue out at her. "Sci-fi comedy it is, loser." He pulled out a movie called _Evolution_ and popped the disc into the DVD player. "More popcorn?"  
  
"Duh," Lydia replied, standing up to take the bowl to the kitchen. "What kind of movie watcher are you? 'More popcorn.' Like that's a question."  
  
Stiles trailed her into the kitchen, pulling a can of Coke out of the fridge. "You're kind of scaring me with how cool you are, right now. Not that it's a bad thing."  
  
"I mean, I can be bitchy, if you'd prefer," Lydia offered, "but that gets tired. It's a lot easier to just have fun, sometimes." She put the bag of popcorn into the microwave and turned around, squeaking when Stiles pinned her to the counter.  
  
"Stop being so perfect," he complained. "You're making it hard to keep up." He stooped his neck and kissed her, lips soft and tasting of Coke. Lydia responded to the kiss, bringing her arms up around his neck, turning her head so his lips slotted more fully against hers. Stiles' hands cupped her waist gently and Lydia had never felt more cherished.  
  
They kissed until the microwave went off. Lydia broke away and Stiles moved to follow her, eyes still closed. She pecked his lips again, smiling. "Come on. Movie."  
  
Stiles opened his eyes, still bent to her level. "Yeah," he said, voice unspeakably quiet, "movie."  
  
Lydia felt something wormy in her stomach, something that lifted her like a balloon. She turned in his arms, fighting the feeling down as she retrieved the popcorn. Stiles moved away, and Lydia felt the wormy sensation collapse a little. She dumped out the unpopped kernels from the bowl and poured the new popcorn in.  
  
"Do you want a drink?" Stiles asked. "We have… Coke. And water. And I think a Capri Sun?" He checked the fridge. "Nope, just Coke and water. Note to self: I need to buy Capri Sun."  
  
"Water, please," Lydia answered. "Thanks." She took the proffered bottle of water and carried the bowl of popcorn into the living room.  
  
"Just a warning," Stiles said, sitting on the couch. "This one may or may not be totally scientifically accurate. I can't remember."  
  
Lydia gasped, mock-outraged. "A science fiction movie? Not scientifically accurate? Oh, I do de _clare_."  
  
Stiles snorted. "Fuck you, I'm trying to be considerate. You're not allowed to complain if it's grossly wrong about biology, okay?"  
  
Lydia reached over him and grabbed the remote, hitting the play button with a pointed jab.  
  
 _Evolution_ was actually pretty accurate, although Lydia had to suspend her disbelief a little. Fifteen minutes into it, the Sheriff came home, headlights flashing through the front window. He clomped in the front door, freezing when he saw Lydia and Stiles on the couch.  
  
"Hey, Dad," Stiles greeted, overly cheery. Lydia fought to contain her eye-roll. Subtle, Stiles. She paused the movie.  
  
"Hey, son," the Sheriff replied cautiously. "Ms. Martin. How are you doing?"  
  
"Just call me Lydia," she replied, smiling graciously at him. "I'm great, Sheriff. How was your shift?"  
  
"Oh, one robbery, couple speeding tickets," he replied, scratching his head just like Stiles did when he was nervous. "Normal day at the office. You two having fun?"  
  
"Oh, just about as much fun as you can have watching movies," Stiles replied casually, cinching Lydia close to his side again. Lydia didn't contain her eye-roll this time; the Sheriff caught her eye and winked.  
  
"Good to know. Whatcha watching? Oh, is that _Evolution_?"  
  
"Yep," Lydia replied primly. "And it's actually pretty scientifically accurate, if you ignore the lack of food source in a cave and the redundancy of ten nucleotides. Oh, and the idea that multi-cellular organisms can undergo massive biological variation via mitosis alone."  
  
Stiles poked her on the knee. "I told you not to complain, Lyds!"  
  
"I'm not complaining!" she said defensively. "I'm merely pointing out some inconsistencies. Overall, it's a good movie."  
  
"It was one of Stiles' mom's favorite movies," the Sheriff replied, smiling to himself. "That and _Galaxy Quest_. Always made her laugh."  
  
"Oh," Lydia whispered, not sure how to feel about that. Actually, it was very overwhelming, and Lydia wanted to run away and hide from it all, bratty princess that she was. Only, she wasn't a bratty princess, not anymore. She could handle this. "In that case, I rescind my observations."  
  
The Sheriff smiled kindly at her. "Don't. I'm happy you like it."  
  
"So, what are you up to, Dad?" Stiles asked, changing the subject.  
  
"Oh, I dunno," the Sheriff said, glancing at the TV. "Paperwork, I guess."  
  
"You're welcome to join us," Lydia offered. "We've only just started."  
  
"What?" Stiles said, laughing falsely. "Dad has work to do, he can't hang out with us."  
  
"Shut up, Stiles," Lydia said, poking him in the side and grinning when he wriggled, ticklish. "Be nice to your father."  
  
"No, it's fine," the Sheriff cut in, smiling broadly. "I do have some paperwork to finish up. You two have fun."  
  
"Okay," Stiles said, "you, too."  
  
The Sheriff walked upstairs. As soon as he was out of earshot, Lydia turned on Stiles.  
  
"You're showing me your mom's favorite movies?" she hissed.  
  
Stiles winced. "Maybe? Coincidentally, they're mine, too. I mean, I think I like them partly _because_ she liked them, but I also genuinely enjoy them… okay?"  
  
Lydia deflated, feeling guilty all over again. Dammit. "I'm sorry I ruined the credibility of your mom's favorite movie."  
  
Stiles kissed her temple, squeezing her to him. "Nah, it's cool. You haven't even seen the cool aliens yet." Lydia pressed play wordlessly, scooping up a handful of popcorn and pressing it all into her mouth at once.  
  
The movie got better.  
  
"Awwww wait, pause," Lydia said, scrambling for the remote. She paused on the face of a cute, vaguely dog-like alien hiding in the closet of some middle-aged woman's house. "Oh my gosh, look at that face!" she squealed. "That's the cutest face ever!"  
  
"You paused the movie to ogle a cute alien," Stiles stated incredulously. "Who even _are_ you?"  
  
"Shut up, Stiles," Lydia said, "and look at that face! I want it!"  
  
Stiles' dad called down the stairs, "The closet one?"  
  
"Yep," Stiles called back.  
  
"I'm that predictable?" Lydia asked, aghast.  
  
"It's okay," Stiles said, shrugging. "When I was a kid, I would make them pause it, too. I always left the room when--"  
  
"No, stop!" Lydia cried, throwing her arm out. "Spoilers! Hit the play button."  
  
Thirty seconds later, she hid her face in Stiles' shirt. "Dammit," she said, "I knew it."  
  
"Sorry," Stiles replied, petting her hair tentatively. "Didn't mean to ruin it for you."  
  
Lydia patted his chest. "It's okay. It was just really cute. I'm okay."  
  
The movie was good until the end, and then it was just gross. Stiles laughed when Lydia's face twisted in disgust, and he kept laughing until the credits rolled.  
  
"It's not that funny," Lydia protested, biting back a smile of her own, "and that was nasty. Like, seriously."  
  
"Oh, come on," Stiles wheezed, "they gave a massive alien a shampoo enema. Tell me that is not the stupidest thing you've ever seen."  
  
"My ex-boyfriend turned into a lizard-man and could paralyze people by scratching their necks. I'm a banshee. My best friend and your best friend are in a Romeo and Juliet-esque romance."  
  
"And…?"  
  
Lydia cracked a grin. "And that ending is the stupidest thing I've ever seen."  
  
"Yes!" Stiles crowed. "I knew it! You loved it, didn't you?"  
  
"Shut up," Lydia snapped, laughing.  
  
"Make me," Stiles challenged, eyes alight. And looking at him, lit only by the TV screen, radiating happiness and something unnameable and deep, Lydia made him. She kissed him with everything she had, all of the sugar and chocolate and emotion that she refused to acknowledge. She gave it all to him in the sweet suction of lips, pressing and demanding and accepting and a whole slew of things.  
  
They broke apart when they heard the Sheriff on the stairs, and Lydia felt better than, well, ever.  
  
"Oh, you finished it?" the Sheriff asked, smiling expectantly. Lydia thanked God it was dark; she was sure both of them were red-cheeked and kiss-swollen.  
  
"Yeah," Stiles said, and wow, his voice sounded _wrecked_. "Yep. She loved it."  
  
Lydia nodded her head. "I liked _Galaxy Quest_ more, though," she commented, frowning when her own voice came out thin. She cleared her throat. "But, I mean, you can't compete with Alan Rickman and Tim Allen." She laughed weakly.  
  
"Wise words," the Sheriff replied, nodding. "So are you going home tonight, Lydia?"  
  
"What?" Stiles asked, neck telescoping forwards. "Of course she is, hahahaha. Aren't you?" That last, squeaky bit was directed at Lydia.  
  
She thought about that for a moment. She didn't really want to go home, if she didn't have to. In fact, she felt like never wanted to leave this peculiar little haven of movies and warmth.  
  
Which was exactly why she should go home. "Unfortunately, I didn't tell my parents I'll be spending the night," she said, smiling apologetically at Stiles. Technically it was true, but her parents wouldn't have cared either way. "So yes, I think so."  
  
"Alright," the Sheriff accepted with an easy nod. "Well, then you might want to get home. It's getting pretty late."  
  
Lydia could take a hint, and he was right, the sun had fallen hours ago. She stood, feeling the shift of air as Stiles stood behind her. "I should go get dressed, then."  
  
The Sheriff nodded and went into the kitchen, and loud clanging followed soon after. Stiles sighed. "He's not the most subtle of parents."  
  
Lydia turned around and smiled slightly. "To be honest? I didn't really expect him to be."  
  
Stiles looked offended and opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it a moment later, curling his lips down in consideration. "That's fair."  
  
Lydia smirked and walked slowly up the stairs, listening for Stiles' loud footfalls behind her. How had this started feeling so domestic? She anticipated the way he followed her almost _too_ closely up the steps, the way he loomed behind her in the doorway to his room, and she craved every action just as it was happening. She shouldn't feel this comfortable around him, not-- not yet.  
  
"So, you had fun, right?" Stiles asked, shifting nervously. Lydia turned to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck.  
  
"Call me crazy, but I think I did. Who'da thunk it, right?"  
  
"I did," Stiles replied, managing to sound confident and shy at the same time. "I know you think that the stuff I like is dorky, and I'm totally fine with that, you know I am, but I know that's not really you talking."  
  
Lydia squinted, cocking her hip. "What?"  
  
Stiles paled, fingers running through his hair. "That came out wrong. It's just," he exhaled loudly, putting his hands on his hips, "it's like there's two Lydias: the perfect, gorgeous pin-up of a high school student with the best grades and the best clothes, and then there's the real Lydia, who loves logic but hates chess and really likes tardigrades."  
  
"They're adorable and biologically fascinating," Lydia said before she could stop herself. "They can _survive_ in _space_." Stiles' face crinkled into a smile.  
  
"I know, Lyds. They're awesome."  
  
Lydia crossed her arms, suddenly feeling very exposed. When did Stiles have the time to figure her out so well?  
  
"I've had eight years," he supplied, reading her mind. Lydia wrinkled her nose.  
  
"One day, your weirdly intimate knowledge of my psyche will be creepy, and then you'll really hate yourself," she informed him. "So, not to sound totally egotistical here, but which one do you like better?"  
  
"Hmm… leather mini-skirts or science fiction." Stiles held up both palms, moving them as if weighing his options. Then he clapped his hands together. "Neither. Both. You ask that like there's even a choice. Both sides of you are still you, Lydia. Is it the curly or the fry that makes curly fries so delicious? Who presumes to be God-like enough to parse the two?" Stiles blinked, his own analogy throwing him off-track. "Anyway, am I making sense?"  
  
Lydia bit her lip, torn between fond amusement and raw shock. "You're making sense," she replied. That, at least, she could say for certain. "It's a lot to take in, though. I mean, you could be my own personal Freud."  
  
"Hmm, and how about your muzzah?" Stiles asked, affecting a horrible German accent. Lydia laughed.  
  
"You're incorrigible," she said, slapping his chest lightly. "So I'm a curly fry? Does that make you the consumer or the ketchup?"  
  
Stiles snorted. "There are so many dirty jokes running through my head right now. You have no idea."  
  
Lydia rolled her eyes, moved to her pile of clothes and turned her back on Stiles, feeling self-conscious now that she was so laid bare. She picked up her horrible, fuchsia bra and slid the straps up her arms, reaching behind her back to do up the clasps. Stiles was there in a heartbeat, knocking her hands out of the way. He didn't move, though.  
  
"You know, call me a masochist--"  
  
"Masochist," Lydia responded immediately. Stiles huffed a laugh and kissed the curve of her shoulder.  
  
"You're more than welcome to wear my clothes home," he continued. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable on your drive, and you can always give them back at school."  
  
Lydia didn't even hesitate; she peeled the bra off and flung it back into the pile, sliding into Stiles' infinitely-more-comfortable t-shirt. Stiles hugged her from behind.  
  
"Better?"  
  
Lydia nodded, turning to reattach her hands to his neck.   “Thanks. I should probably go now.”  
  
“Okay,” Stiles replied, eyes warm and near-black. “Thanks for not judging me too harshly on my movie selection.”  
  
Lydia reached up on her tip-toes and hugged him tightly. “Never give up,” she whispered into his ear, meaning every single goddamned word.  
  
Stiles clutched her around her waist. “Never surrender,” he whispered back just as fiercely.  
  
When Lydia got home that night, full of popcorn and burnt-sweet emotions, she curled up in bed and sniffed at Stiles' shirt.  
  
'Never surrender,' he'd said.  
  
Too late. She already had.

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to my mom, who, like Mama Stilinski, loves her some good ol' sci-fi, and passed that love onto her kid. Total coincidence, right? Right.
> 
> If you're interested, feel free to follow me on [my Tumblr](jenetica.tumblr.com). I'm kinda sorta cool sometimes? A little?


End file.
